


The Ballad of the Spider

by montespan



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: English and Italian, F/M, Love/Hate, Poetry, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26409688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/montespan/pseuds/montespan
Summary: The club you stalked,the lion in its shiny cage,still drunk in lovelike that first timestill hopeless in lovesmoke so thick, vodka pouringthe memory of me was fading
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 1





	The Ballad of the Spider

_The Ballad of the Spider_

September 2020

“If they ain’t look at me the same,

I would probably die with all the shame

You did what with who?

What good is a ménage-à-trois

When you have a soulmate?”

JayZ, _4:44_

“We will take away all your anger and pain,

And replace them with something much better:

calm, poise, serenity.

We’re going to make you into a proper woman.

[…] Monstrous I may be in your eyes,

a savage beast, you say, then so be it.

I’m the sum part of one woman’s days

That woman has know pain and outrage so terrible

that has made her into this misshapen being

that you so despise 

but let her be who she is.”

Pennydreadful, 3X09

The lion and the spider

I, a creature of neurosis and scars

you, one of bold, improbable hopes.

You cannot turn your back on me,

not even before my darkness

— or can you, my love?

Please don’t make me bother

to find out you want another.

_I was not there, was far away,_

_but I was fucking with nobody._

And still your dreams I haunted,

like the spider,

the strings of my webs too sticky,

how could you ever get the image of me

out of your memory?

The club you stalked,

the lion and its shiny cage,

still _drunk in love_

-like that first time-

still hopeless in love;

smoke so thick, vodka pouring

the memory of me was fading.

And girls, one after one

have they ever wanted ya?

And yet they’re never me,

they just can’t compare

and love, we both know that.

So take a glass, two, three, four, five

be your most base, lowest self

disappoint me for the very first time,

but do it well and hard and heartlessly

— Oh, but it’s just jealousy.

So take that harlot, blindly, scared to death

your legs are shaking

your mind is blank

you’re not the person to use a woman like that.

What’s happened to you?

Are you that small and weak and coward

to use, in such a base way, a woman?

Are you such a pitiful, mysoginistic excuse for a man

such as I swore I’d never love?

You don’t even know yourself.

Except you know, you’re the one that told me

you needed to feel strong and powerful

a _true_ man - and regrettably

I never knew you could be

just that.

—Oh, but it’s just jealousy.

So take that harlot, blindly, scared to death,

use her as best you can.

make real all the fantasies you’ve ever had

and when it’s time, be sure to hurt me bad 

Was she hot or did she just tun you on?

Was she worth it or was she just worth your money?

Either way the answer will not soothe the pain.

Do your worst, forget about me,

And she's never me, never me

never on my level.

Will I nurse this resentment forever?

Let her stroke you in ways I never did

Is that how you want it?

A woman who’s filthy by night

And one who’s chaste by day?

Did you look her in the eyes?

Or was it just for pleasure’s sake?

Was that a mere transaction?

Surely not love, nor attraction;

except

she must have been turned on

by such a young man

so unlike her usual fellas.

Her body under you, on top of you

against you, around you.

Your tongue

in her mouth, touching

hers,

on her, inside her.

Your bodies writhing, your hips grinding.

What are you thinking?

Is that how you’d imagined it?

I can’t stop imagining it,

the sweat, the moans, the sounds you make

while you fuck her.

No matter how good she was,

how she made your body come alive,

how much pleasure she wrung out of you

your limbs with hers entwined,

She’s never me, love.

No matter how filthily she moved for you

How shameless she was

How debauched, how depraved

She’s never me, never on my level.

For so long I thought

Love was not for me,

that it would hurt, shame me, make me _weak_

And then I learned how to feel empowered by love

just be left barefoot on a grass of thorns.

For so long I thought

I could do right by my gender

only through meaningless sex

just like men

do.

But what good is a sexual encounter

with someone

you don’t really care for,

when you’re still called a whore

derogatorily so, and yet

you’re expected to be one

for the man you love?

When they want you to be chaste,

but that makes you a prude,

and they want you to be dirty

but that makes you a harlot?

Is that sexual freedom,

to be cut in half

and never be enough?

Is that sexual freedom

as we women were told

or just another form of exploitation?

I felt it from my first blood

I swore I would

never give up my pride for a man

never give in to stupid love

never give in to his selfish desires

never be weak

at the mercy of anyone

so as an independent woman

in London

I gained experience in the arms

of a gentle youth.

Confident,

but still drunk

and scared as fuck.

So did you laugh with them guys,

From the height of your privilege?

Was that a matter of no importance?

Did you comment on their breasts, their ass,

on the fake sounds they made

on how strong that made you feel?

We were far apart, I was not your girlfriend,

_I was not there, was far away_

_but I was fucking with nobody._

_Of course I don’t understand_

_but I would, if I thought like a man_

and of course I don’t want to understand,

I despise you all, you cannot tell right from wrong.

I was not your girlfriend,

we were far apart,

Of course I don’t understand

_but I would, if I thought like man_

_— Oh, but it’s just jealousy._

So tell me like it’s nothing, like it’s fun

I can’t believe it, you’re making fun of me

it can’t be real

— except it is

I wanna through up

I’m too overwhelmed with disgust.

Rage locked up,

to unleash it I was never used,

And when it’s too much

my mind is flooded with pictures of you and her

But my sight is lost in thought

I can’t bear to look at you

and that’s why when I do

look you in the eye

on my face there’s just a heartless smile.

You’re there, the one I love,

Your face, the one I know so well,

The same eyes, lips and jaw I’ve adored for so long,

One I can recognise at fist sight,

So why does it feel like there’s another you

Hidden in disguise

That I never knew and yet despise?

It takes time and doubts, hate and _shame—_ poetry, at last

For me to accept that even now there’s love in my heart

And yet you know well I’m torn apart.

Am I stupid or only stupid in love

To wanna forget

What my values could never accept?

_I was not there, I was far away,_

_but I was fucking with nobody._

_Of course I don’t understand_

_but I would, if I thought like man._

“ _Why when we’re together God seems to sit in the room with us?_

_And when you’re away, I manage to forget you;_

_And then one touch of your hand and God comes rushing back._

_God or the Devil_

_Whatever it is, it overwhelms._ ”

THE BORGIAS, 3x10


End file.
